I’m wilting in the darkening kitchen
When my younger brother
Arrives to my grappling,
Ridges of agar jar rubbing
Fingerprints from my skin.
I’ve poured hot water around the rim,
Metal bands expand, steam melting upwards.
I’ve tried the tea towel grip.
My hands simply slide, leaving
Squeaking glass and solid lid.
As he slips in, pale-faced from the cold
I stand straight and sweep rogue,
Sticky stripes of hair aside.
His squint rakes my crumbling attempt
To keep the jar behind, benched.
Floppy curls, beginnings of whiskers.
When did he become the taller one?
I say, ‘Don’t worry’.
But his long arms already loop around
My torso, a slow warming like rays of morning sun.
And while I sink into his limby cocoon,
His fingers find the flaws
In the jar I’ve been wrestling over,
Longer than a fearless sister should.
He pops the cap with slender hands.
Over the next few weeks I’m going to post poems by my students. Massey University doesn’t (yet) have an online journal like Turbine or 4th Floor, and it seems unfair that these poems are not read beyond my dining room table. These poems are the ones that make me think it’s a blurry line between student and teacher.
The first poem is by Mary Fisher, a part-time Massey student studying towards a BA in psychology alongside representing New Zealand in swimming. She enjoyed creative writing at high school and wrote this poem as part of 139.123, which for her was an elective paper. Mary likes cooking and says there is a parallel between her and literal jam jars as well as an object which could represent aspects of identity.